Wronged
by trufflemores
Summary: 4x04. "I was hoping it would be Blaine." What if Blaine had gone to Kurt that night? Fix it fic. Kurt/Blaine. COMPLETE. M for language.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

"I've been waiting all night for you."

"I know." Blaine's voice was hoarse. Kurt couldn't see much of him, standing in the corner, still mostly silhouetted by the sole lamp in the room. The rift between them seemed to stretch miles, a few planks of wood making his throat tighten as he realized how much damage had been done. "I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"I don't want to hear it." He didn't even know his voice could descend that low. He should, at this point. He sang the opening notes for their funk number way back when; it shouldn't have shocked him so much, to hear the dark, bitter hatred there. "I don't want to hear any excuses."

Blaine retreated half a step, the darkness shielding his face entirely. Kurt could almost make out the slight tremble of his chin and tried to muster an ounce of pity for it, but the ache in his chest hurt more, wrenching and deep and _wrong wrong wrong_. This can't be happening, he thought, staring at Blaine as he folded his arms across his chest, hunching inward. This can't be happening.

Still, he didn't make a move from the armchair that he'd claimed as his own. He'd wait all night if he had to, but eventually Blaine would get the message and go back to sleep like he was supposed to. A small, vindictive side of Kurt wanted to scream at him, to throw something at him until he _got_ it. Until he understood that this hurt and this was wrong and _why the hell did you do this to us?_ Instead, he waited, waited without saying a word, without even tapping his foot against the floorboard like he wanted to.

There was a soft noise, like a throat clearing. "I'm . . . I can't ask you to forgive me," Blaine said, wrenching the words out into the open. Kurt wanted to look away, as though he had offered up his bloody, mangled organs in the place of actual platitudes. He could imagine the struggle, raw and primal, as Blaine fought to hold back something that he couldn't control while Kurt ached to stop something he couldn't handle. "I don't . . . I don't deserve you anymore, Kurt."

"Please go away." He didn't know where the words came from. The hollowness in his chest seemed at odds with his racing heart. "Go away, Blaine."

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, a strangled sound escaping him as he pressed a hand to his mouth. For one horrified moment Kurt wondered if he would vomit up his heart. Instead he shook his head, visibly composing himself, and slumped with the effort, almost sagging on his feet. "I - I don't know what to do," he admitted shakily. "I shouldn't have - I should never have - "

"You should go back to sleep," Kurt said, almost gently, startling himself. He had wanted to be hard, to be stern and cold and biting, but he couldn't help it. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and there was nothing that he could do to change that.

Blaine stared at him with a hangdog look that Kurt knew all too well. "I cheated on you," he whispered. The horror in his voice was so genuine that Kurt actually shivered, ripping his gaze away from Blaine's before he would drown, staring at the blank canvas of the ceiling instead. It was almost comforting by comparison, dull and unobtrusive and the same as it had been twenty four hours ago.

He couldn't say the same thing about Blaine and him. Hell, it hadn't even been half a day yet and he wondered how he was still breathing, still sitting in this chair and thinking about moving forward without Blaine.

He looked over, then, and caught Blaine's gaze. "You did," was all he said, soft and finite.

"I'm so sorry," Blaine said. There were tears in his voice but Kurt looked away, refused to look at him even as he stepped forward, moving towards the ringlet of lamp light surrounding him. Kurt stiffened at that and Blaine halted in the middle of the floor, his tear stained cheeks confirming Kurt's suspicions. He suppressed an exasperated sigh at the thought.

If Blaine didn't want to be heartbroken, then he shouldn't have done it. Simple as that.

Still, what came out instead was a slightly strangled noise as he wrapped his arms around his knees, tugging them close to his chest. He wished that he could sink into the chair supporting him, that he could vanish before anyone could ever find him. Vogue didn't matter. NYADA and New York and dreams of being on Broadway - they didn't matter.

Because he was alone. Alone in a world that he had desperately hoped that he could share with someone else.

Swallowing back the urge to scream himself raw at the wrongness of it, Kurt lifted his gaze back to Blaine's as he inched forward. "Don't touch me," he warned fiercely, drawing himself in a little closer. "I swear to God, Blaine - "

"I'm not going to touch you," Blaine said softly, stopping three feet away from the arm chair and slowly lowering himself to the floor, crossing his legs. He stared at Kurt with such intensity that Kurt had no choice but to look away, unable to meet that gaze. "I made a mistake. I - I screwed up."

Kurt inclined his head a little and said nothing. "Are you done?"

Blaine clasped his hands together; Kurt could see that his fingers were trembling. "I - I can't do this without you," he whispered. "I can't live without you. I - I need you, Kurt, and you're not - you're never - " He breathed in raggedly through his nose, holding back a deluge of emotions. Kurt was grateful for the restraint. He didn't think he could handle a crying fit now, and he couldn't muster the indifference to walk away from it. "This is all my fault."

"Is that it, then?" Kurt burst out, unable to help himself as he straightened, his legs dangling to the floor as he stared at Blaine, disbelieving. "After - after everything - and - and Chandler - " He choked, hating himself for the moment of weakness and plowing forward the second that he had control, needing to say it, _needing_ to say it. "You told everyone that I was a cheater," he said in a low voice. "You told everyone that I cheated on you."

"I'm so sorry - "

"You - you branded me in front of them. In front of people that I - " He took a deep breath, willing calm back into his voice. "You called me out in front of people that are practically family to me."

"Kurt, I - " Blaine tightened his grip around his own hands, his knuckles going white. Kurt vaguely wondered if the barely audible creaking noise came from him; Blaine didn't seem to notice as he continued, his voice almost feverish as he rushed through the words. "I - I was wrong to do that. God, I was - I was so stupid even then. I should never have done that. You didn't - you didn't deserve to have that kind of . . . that _hate_ thrust upon you."

"You refused to talk to me," Kurt reflected softly, almost dreamily. He could see the way that Blaine's knuckles went stark, pigment sheered to the bone. "You refused to answer any of my phone calls. My texts."

"I - "

"I think you should leave."

Blaine said nothing for a long time, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them.

"I don't want to lose you," he said at last, his voice barely a whisper. "I - I'll do anything, Kurt. Anything. If you'll just - if you - if there's anything - "

"Please stop," Kurt said.

For a moment, he thought that Blaine would break down right then and there, his shoulders giving one heaving shudder before he pushed himself to his feet. "Please," he whispered. Kurt sighed a little, opening his mouth to say that he was tired and angry and would Blaine please stop talking now? Blaine didn't give him the chance, though, continuing quickly, "I know that this isn't working out. I know that I haven't - I haven't been completely honest with you. I know that I - " He paused, collecting himself, and plunged forward. "I shouldn't have cheated on you." His voice cracked and Kurt closed his eyes, willing himself not to be moved as he waited for Blaine to leave.

Instead: "But I still love you. I still love you more than anyone else in this world, Kurt, and if there's anything - _any_ way I can fix this, I will. I promise."

Kurt said nothing, instead keeping his eyes shut and willing the past few hours to have been a dream, a horrible dream that, when he woke up the next morning, would prove to have been nothing more than some late-night coffee-induced nightmare. He would get up and go to work and talk to Blaine in between conference calls and it would be fine. Blaine would be there in two weeks and they would celebrate by going out to the best restaurant they could afford and then spend hours just catching up afterward on whatever struck their fancy. He waited, breathless and desperate, for morning to come, for Blaine to disappear and his words to have been lies.

He opened his eyes and looked at Blaine and felt the bottom drop out of his world again.

"Why did you do this?" he asked, voice ragged. "Why did you . . . we were perfect, Blaine. We were perfect and then you - you went and - and slept with another guy - "

"I panicked," Blaine interrupted, almost choking over the words as tears spilled over his cheeks. "I panicked, Kurt. As soon as - as soon as I was in that - that fucking _room_ I just - I lost it and I couldn't do it and I ran." He wrapped his arms around himself again and turned away from Kurt a little. He shivered so violently that Kurt wanted to toss a blanket around his shoulders just to see if it would stop. It didn't, only intensifying as Blaine rasped, "I couldn't do. I - I couldn't - the second he - he put his hand on my arm I just panicked and I ran and I knew that I'd screwed up and I'm so fucking sorry, Kurt."

It was strange, he reflected, in some small, logical corner of his mind, to hear Blaine swear. That part of his mind had been pushed to the background as he watched Blaine pace, visibly falling apart at the seams. It was horrifying and riveting to watch, a trainwreck in the making.

"It's exactly what I yelled at you for," he choked. "I yelled at you for - for texting Chandler when I was - I was on Facebook and there was no one online and then he came up and I thought - I thought it would be okay, that we could just - " He sniffed once, hard, and Kurt's heart shattered into a few more infinitesimal pieces. "I thought we could talk. I thought it would make me feel better if we could - we could talk like you and I used to and instead he just wanted - he just wanted to fool around and I knew that's all he wanted but I still - I still went and then - " He reached up a hand and dragged it through his hair. Kurt winced at the thought of the gel on his fingers; he hadn't washed it since he'd gotten back to the apartment, two hours after Kurt had arrived. "I should have left," he said, almost sobbing the words as he turned fully away from Kurt. "I should have left and I didn't and now it's - we're screwed up."

"We're not," Kurt interjected softly, but Blaine was shaking his head in a way that meant he didn't hear him, couldn't hear him.

"I just - I really needed you, Kurt, and you weren't there and I - "

Kurt waited, waited for what seemed like hours for him to continue, but all he did was make a shuddering noise as his shoulders hitched. It took Kurt longer than he thought possible to realize that he was crying, full blown crying and it was strange and horrifying and heartbreaking in a way that none of his words had been.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, startling him, the words breathless and ragged as he whirled to face Kurt. "I'm sorry, Kurt, I'm so - I'm so fucking sorry and I - "

"Stop that," Kurt said softly, unable to bear it, as he stood up and slowly walked over to him. He didn't know how Blaine could still read him so well when it felt like everything had changed but he could, and suddenly he had his arms wrapped around Blaine and Blaine was holding him back as tightly as he dared, his face buried against his shoulder.

"Stop, stop, stop," he said, almost a mantra, his voice hushed and calmer than he would have thought possible. Blaine's trembling slowly subsided as his death grip relaxed on the back of Kurt's shirt. "I - I don't know how we're going to get through this," he admitted, his own voice shaking a little at the prospect because they had promised it would work and now it was falling to pieces. But they were still holding on, still desperately holding each other together, and Kurt could feel Blaine's heart pounding near his own. "I just - we'll get through this. We'll get through this." He rested his cheek on top of Blaine's head and let his body take over, refusing to rear back and pull away and refuse to talk to Blaine when it felt like a single wrong move would shatter all the pieces again. Instead he held him like he wanted to, rubbing his back slowly and ignoring the tears tracking down his own face because how had it come to this? How?

"We'll get through this," he repeated, and Blaine's fingers locked into the back of his shirt, Blaine's body pressed against his own, felt like a promise.

"I promise," Kurt whispered aloud.


End file.
